


infectious affections

by broikawa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ;), Angst, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Unrequited Love, blood tw, ur welcome bri ily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broikawa/pseuds/broikawa
Summary: ━「 The small yellow petal, like one you would find on a chrysanthemum, sat in the palm of his hand. There were tiny flecks of red as well, dotting it like paint splatter. 」





	infectious affections

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this some time ago when my friend bri @shibiyama-yuuki (tumblr) were talking about hanahaki aus. i mentioned hanahaki!yamaguchi, they called me chaotic evil, and here we are.
> 
> ily bri hope you enjoy this

At first, he wasn't sure what to make of it. The small yellow petal, like one you would find on a chrysanthemum, sat in the palm of his hand. There were tiny flecks of red as well, dotting it like paint splatter. His first instinct was to look it up, like most sane people in the 21st century would, but something was holding him back. Something was telling him not to search for it, like it was something he would wish he never looked up in the first place.

So, he grabbed his laptop.

Typing in frantic searches like "coughing up flowers???" quickly brought him to a few webpages, all saying the same thing: Hanahaki disease.

He mumbled under his breath as he read. "Hanahaki disease is a disease contracted by unrequited love." His words slowed down, reading the information quieter than before. "The victim begins to grow flowers in their stomach, throat, and lungs, often coughing them up along with blood. If not treated properly, the victim will quickly die, as the petals will block the airway in their throat, making it difficult or impossible to breathe..."

Tadashi didn't notice the tear rolling down his cheek until it fell onto his hand, which was still resting on the keyboard of the computer, the moonlight shining over it through his window. _Unrequited love?,_ he thought, not believing it to be true, _there's no way._ The image of a person popped into the boy's mind, but quickly pushed it away, as if it was something you had noticed but didn't want to pay any attention to. He knew what – who caused it, but after all these years, he never wanted to admit it to himself, let alone _him_. They had been friends since before he could remember, only starting to play together at a young age because of the friendship between their mothers.

"You two are connected at the hip," his mother would say to him, though the phrase faded away after his third year of junior high began.

"I guess you could say that," he almost always replied.

What he convinced himself was platonic love and a best friendship was something else – he knew this. He knew more than ever. Another tear fell onto his hand, bringing himself back to reality. Tadashi wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt, erasing any evidence of him crying at all.

 

The next time a petal came from his throat was a few days later during practice. It was about twenty minutes in; volleyballs flying past him, the motivating words of his teammates every time he served well.

His best friend standing on the other side of the net, giving him a small smile of encouragement.

He hadn't forgotten about the Hanahaki disease. In fact, that was the only thing he could think about. He had went to bed soon after reading about it, thankful that it had happened at night and not some other time, like dinner or during class. It was his first thought every morning, and his last every night. It was as if his entire world had been turned upside down because of a single flower petal.

Well, make that two.

He had the ball in his hand, bouncing it on the floor a few times to get a feel for it. He outstretched his arm, holding the ball steady, preparing to throw it up. Before he could move, he felt something in his throat, slowing creeping up to his mouth. He let out a cough.

Then another.

Then another.

The next one was too much; he dropped the ball, covering his mouth with his hand, in a desperate attempt to get the petal back down. Sugawara quickly walked over to help him, the third-year repeatedly asking him if he was all right.

"I'm fi-" he started, interrupted by another cough.

"Here," Suga said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "let's get you some air." Tadashi nodded slowly, letting the older boy guide him to the gym doors while practice continued for the others. The coughing stopped when they got outside, and Tadashi looked down at his palm to see another yellow petal, covered in more blood than the first time. "What is it?" Sugawara asked, noticing his fixation on his hand.

He swiftly closed it, crushing the petal in his fist to stop Suga from seeing it. "Nothing," he lied, "I'm fine."

"Yamaguchi," he said, saying the boy's name in a soft tone, "you can talk to me, you know."

He nodded, "I know." He sighed, looking at his closed hand and considering saying something, confiding in someone about this secret he himself had only known for a few days. "You, um..." he started nervously, already wanting to back out.

"I won't say anything if you don't want me to," Suga told him, reading his thoughts. He smiled at him like a parent would, soft and caring, engaged in whatever it was you were talking to them about.

Tadashi said nothing. He simply opened his palm, revealing the wrinkled and bloody flower petal he had coughed up not even two minutes prior. He watched as his upperclassman's eyes widened slightly, examining the object carefully. "Hanahaki," he heard him whisper under his breath.

"You know what it is?" he asked him, getting a nod.

"A bit," he said, looking back up at him. "It was a project I had in second year; something about rare diseases." Tadashi was glad, almost happy, that Suga was the one to step out and help him. God forbid, if it had been Tsukishima. There's no way he would've been able to tell him about this. Sugawara studied the flower once more, before asking: "Have you told anyone else about this?"

Tadashi didn't reply, only timidly shaking his head. "I don't even know what's going on. How am I supposed to explain this to anyone else?"

"You're going to need to get this treated," Suga said regretfully, not meeting Tadashi's eyes, most likely thinking about the after-effects of surgery. The two were quiet; the kind of quiet you'd fall into after receiving bad news. Although, it was. Bad news. It was terrible news that Tadashi knew no one would recover from, let alone him.

Tadashi had never been very outspoken. He kept things quiet and hidden, only saying them once it became something he had to do. This... This was different. This wasn't a school presentation, or something he had been wanting to ask his mom about. Treatment was something he looked up, but the thought of forgetting his best friend was much more frightening than the flowers.

Something about forgetting the person who had shaped your life so dramatically was one of the most terrifying things Tadashi could think of, and he wasn't ready for it to become a reality. He didn't think – he knew he'd never be ready for that.

"Yamaguchi?" Suga asked quietly, pulling Tadashi out of his train of thought and back into the conversation. "If you don't get this treated, you know what'll happen."

"Yeah," he hummed, "I know. I'll get it tested soon." Could he even muster up the courage to tell his mom about this, let alone a doctor? He was scared; more scared than he'd ever been in his life. "I'll be okay."

Sugawara smiled thinly, watching as Tadashi began to turn back to the gym. "And, Yamaguchi," he said, getting his attention once more.

"Hm?" he said, looking at his uperclassman.

"Who is it?" he asked, "Who did this to you?"

Tadashi was silent. Admitting it to Sugawara was admitting it to himself, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that quite yet. "Tsukki," he blurted, surprising himself. Suga, on the other hand, looked the least bit surprised, as if he had been suspecting it for sometime. Tsukki.

 

Over the course of the next three days, five more petals came up. The worst was on the second day, a Friday, when Tsukishima had come over after practice to do homework. Doing homework together never bothered them, even if they did get a bit off track at times, and the two seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. Perhaps it was simply the company of another person, as they sat and did their schoolwork. 

Tadashi looked over at his friend, who was sitting at the desk. His body was hunched over a textbook, one earbud in his ear so he could listen to both his music and his friend. His body seemed to hurt more than before, perhaps because of the closeness of Kei. Being so close to the person you love, but not close enough to reach out and touch them, was such a terrible pain, and Tadashi was experiencing way too much of it. He found himself staring for what he thought was too long, feeling as if Kei could sense his eyes on him. He looked down, trying to pay his attention back the the homework. Something caught in his throat; the oh-so familiar feeling of petals finding their way out. He coughed, trying to sound as if he was simply clearing his throat, but he coughed again, causing Kei to turn around.

"You good?" he asked, looking at his friend. His eyebrows were pushing together, his face looking troubled.

Tadashi nodded, unable to reply with words. He held up a finger, using the other hand to cover his mouth, and stood up. Kei understood, looking back to his work while Tadashi ran to the bathroom. He opened the door, closing and locking it behind him. He leaned over the sink, coughing over and over again, desperately wanting the petals to fall. When they did, there was much more blood than petals, and two fell, unlike the past times he'd coughed them up. He stared at them, silently accepting that the disease was getting worse. 

_Two, huh?_ he thought, sounding much too casual to be in his current situation. His hands were gripping the edge of the counter softly, his eyes fixated on the petals in the sink. 

He thought. He'd have to tell him eventually, right? He couldn't hide this forever. If he said nothing, he'd die. But if he got the surgery, he'd forget about him all together. The only other option would be to get him to fall in love with him, which he knew was impossible. He knew Tsukishima didn't like anyone like that, at least to his knowledge. Even if he did, it'd be after knowing them for a while, and sometimes even _that_ wasn't enough. Sure, the two were close, but Tsukishima obviously didn't reciprocate Tadashi's feelings.

Tadashi was taken out of his head by a knock on the bathroom door, knuckles knocking twice. "Tadashi?" Tsukishima asked from outside, "You okay?" He could hear the concern in his voice.

"Yeah," he said, turning on the sink to wash away the evidence of his condition. He pushed the petals down the sink with his fingers, washing the blood away faster as he did. He dried his hands on the hand towel and opened the door.

"Is that blood?" Tsukishima asked, his eyes on Tadashi's lips.

As if by reflex, Tadashi hand shot up to his mouth, wiping it away. He looked at his hand, rubbing away the small dot of blood between his fingertips. "My lip's just bleeding, that's all," he fibbed, looking up at his friend who clearly wasn't taking any of it.

"All right," he said reluctantly, walking back to Tadashi's bedroom.

Not yet, Tadashi thought, licking his lips out of habit, the vague taste of metal on his tongue. I won't tell him yet.

 

The next week was practically hell for Tadashi, bringing up at least four or five or six petals everyday. It was getting harder to hide it, and even harder to breathe. He had trouble during practice, and sometimes even just standing was difficult. He knew he was dying, and quickly, but he'd rather die in every known universe than lose one of the only people that had stayed beside him all these years.

"Are you doing anything this weekend?" Tsukishima asked the following Friday. It was always like him to try and make small talk with Tadashi, especially when the latter was talking less on a particular day. "We could do something." Tsukki smiled at his friend softly, likely as an attempt to lift his spirits.

_No, Tsukki_ , Tadashi thought in an upbeat in-his-head voice, _I'll be throwing up flower petals all weekend, so I don't think I'll be available. Oh, and next weekend won't be good either, as there's a good chance I'll be dead by then._ "Maybe," he said instead, almost inaudibly.

"You've been more quiet than usual," he noted, "are you doing okay?"

"Yeah," he replied quickly, using his voice a little more.

"You sure?" Tsukishima asked, tilting his head to the to get a better look at his friend's face.

"I'm fine, Tsukki," he lied, the ache from it worse than from the plant growing inside of him. He saw the pain in his friend's face as he said this, and the urge to just spill his guts right then and there grew stronger.

"I want you to talk to me, Ya– Tadashi," he told him quietly, muttering the boy's first name rather than last. This made him feel even worse. Tsukishima only ever used his first name when they were alone; using anywhere else meant he was being serious. The name was more of a breath of air rather than a spoken word, though.

"Really, Tsukki, I'm–"

"You've been avoiding me though," he interrupted, voice raising ever so slightly. Tadashi sat quietly, unmoving, watching Tsukishima's lip waver somewhat as he talked. "I just want to make sure you're okay, and for me to do that, I need you to talk to me."

"Tsukki–"

"Nevermind," said Tsukishima, standing up and gathering his things, "I get it; you're not in the mood right now." He grabbed his jacket from his seat and walked away, leaving Tadashi open-mouthed and even more alone than before.

 

Tadashi never expected the words "I get it; you're not in the mood right now" to be the last one's he would hear out of his best friend's mouth. Yet, here he was: Saturday night, on the bathroom floor, throwing up petals and blood into the toilet, in the most agonizing pain – that he guessed – anyone had ever felt.

He didn't care anymore. He didn't have any way out of this. No one was home, and he didn't have the strength to crawl to his room and grab his cell phone, which he had thrown onto his bed when he felt a petal coming up no less than ten minutes prior. He was stuck here: Saturday night, on the bathroom floor, throwing up petals and blood into the toilet.

Tsukishima found his way into Tadashi's thoughts. He wondered if it would've been easier or harder if he had just told his about the Hanahaki disease from the start. Would he have helped? Would he have made it develop faster? Tadashi would, unfortunately, never know.

He thought about what Sugawara had said to him the other week about the disease: "If you don't get this treated, you know what'll happen." He laughed at the thought, but that only invited a cough and more blood. All he could taste was metal, and it even covered up the natural taste of the flower petals.

"If you don't get this treated, you know what'll happen."

Saturday night,

on the bathroom floor,

throwing up petals and blood into the toilet.

**Author's Note:**

> yamaguchi: OOF
> 
> pls don't block me lol
> 
> main: thefxndxm-life  
> studyblr: asterdoesthings


End file.
